


sodium vapor lite

by hanktalkin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bickering, Old Married Couple, Other, Post-Canon, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 11:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18207521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: Passion is like cheese: best when well aged, yet not as finally appreciated by those without organic functions.





	sodium vapor lite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Punk_B1rd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_B1rd/gifts).



> 4 punkbird, who asked for wire play ages ago

On a lonely street in Amsterdam, with her arm around my waist and a Russian drinking song on her lips, I decided this was the happiest I had ever seen Zarya. She belted out the second half of the chorus, notes flung into the night where they transformed into fog and never came back, to then be joined by a round of heedless laughter. Every line made her sway, threatening to tilt us both off the sidewalk and into the river below.

“Come now Lynx,” she said with gusto, “you know the words!”

“I assure you I genuinely don’t.”

“Pah,” she waved her free hand. “Spoilsport. Fine, I will sing for both of us.”

She sunk back into the measure, starting low and swinging high, leaving me to crane my neck up and marvel at her range in satisfied silence. I suppose I could have opened a connection if I really wanted to, downloaded the lyrics and tried to sing along, but I was happy just to be beside her on a cold night under yellow streetlamps.

As the last note faded, captured by the river and whisked away, she let us settle into silence, the journey over sheets of ice empty of disturbance beside the occasional crunch underfoot. I caught sight of her profile, then looked ahead again. “You’re smiling. It’s a nice look on you.”

She started, and looked down at me. “What are you talking about? I always smile.”

“In the two decades I’ve know you? Perhaps twice.”

Her face skirted around the edges of a pout, though threatened nowhere near her usual scowl. “Hm. Well. I have not had much to be happy about the past many years.”

“Oh well _that’s_ good to hear,” I drawled. “So sad _nothing_ in your life has brought you any joy.”

“Certainly not _you_ , Seventeen,” she bit right back, a grin once again seeping into her words. Even as bumped me in retribution, her right armed tightened, that ever present need to bring us closer. I’d noticed ever since we’d left the celebration: the way she lingered longer than necessary when helping me with my coat, how every touch seemed to want more…Intimacy was not such a common thing that such actions turned mundane.

When I did not have a witty retort for her, she lapsed back into silence. Her eyes turned skyward, after a moment noting, “it is right that we should be happy. It is what we deserve.”

“We also deserve a warm bungalow in Tahiti and fiber optic based service, but we take what we can get.”

She snorted. “Not Tahiti. You would get all sandy.”

I waved my hand. “Madrid then. Somewhere where my joints don’t freeze every time we go for a walk.”

“You don’t feel that cold to me.” Her fingers found the sprockets in my shoulder, near the neck of my coat. Another excuse to touch. “What you really need is some better clothes. A touch of personal style could do you some good.”

“Does that mean you’re getting rid of that atrocious workout outfit? Because I’m not taking fashion advice from you until that thing is burned and the closet down with it.”

Zarya laughed, bright and exuberantly, something that might have shaken the whole street if the whole city weren’t off at their own celebrations. She swung me, practically sweeping me off my feet as the ice slipped out from under me. “All that and more! Don’t you see Lynx? We _won_.” We faced each other then for the first time, and although there was a soft pink to her cheeks, I think she was drunk on something else entirely. “We won,” she repeated, softer, her green eyes gazing into mine.

I reached up and carded my fingers through her hair, starting to thin as it was. Maybe to humans the beginnings of age are undesirable, the first signs of a body’s failure—but to me, Zarya was just as beautiful and strong as the day I met her. I met her victorious joy with an affirmation of my own. Her face slid changed slowly, edges tampering until they arrived at something completely at peace. She closed her eyes, and pressed her forehead to mine.

After a moment, I wound up the static dischargers in my faceplate, and gave her a small kiss.

“Ah!” she said, jerking back slightly. Her eyes narrowed as I chuckled, and she brought her face right to mine once again, equal parts threat and arousal lacing her voice. “Lynx Seventeen, you drive me absolutely _crazy_.”

* * *

Slatted shades dressed the window, submerging the hotel room in stripes of bisque—so when Zarya shoved me against the nearest wall, she did so just high enough that the bloom hit me directly in the eyes.

Being nearly blinded did not slow us down.

Her fingers were already helping undress—I and her both—and hungry palms slid against the flat of my chest as a I entertained a brief flash of heedfulness. It was not that intimacy between us was uncommon, per say, but due to my own nature I tended to rely on her signals for when it was time to take our affectations in a certain direction. These lessened over time, her wants tempered but never abated. So then, it was a testament to our triumph that she was so invigorated; for we had found ourselves here—sprawled on a bed that wasn’t our own while the party left our systems.

“Forgetting something?” I said, trying to tug open the buttons in the cashmere folds of her shirt.

She batted my hand aside. “Later.” It came low, a rumble in the back of her throat, and something inside me leapt forward to greet it.

Back against the pillows, I followed her eyes downward, her fingers stopping over the top rim of my groin plate. Her fingers were warm, languid, and (even though my tactile sensors are beyond lacking), I still exhibited a shiver as she trailed the lip like she was playing a wineglass. Her eyes flicked back up and I met her stare. She pulled down the plate.

When I say that my tactile sensors are less than ideal, that is only partially true: my internal sensors are downright batty. Just the air on exposure was enough to send me whirring, humidity and heat flinging warnings in my processors that simulated arousal. I turned my head away impulsively. Zarya wasted no time in pressing an assuring hand within my cords, her other coming up to rest along my neck.

“ _Lynx_ ,” she muttered, just barely audible as she pressed her face against my collar. My hand found her back, and grabbed fistfuls of the light fabric.

“Eager, aren’t we?” I whispered right back.

I should have known better than taunt her at a time like that. The hand nestled in my insides found a 16-pin Molex connector, and unclipped it with a _click_. Instantly, I squirmed, gasping softly as my fingers sunk more firmly into Zarya’s back. She grinned, the unset yellow of the sodium lights turning her teeth into a carnal parody of a smile. I grunted.

“ _Eager_ , is not the word I would have used.” Her hand left me, trailing the orphaned plug along the waiting bedspread. It left me open, exposed, the unnatural yet titillating experience of having my insides draped all over the sheets. I refrained from further comments.

Sensing my deference—waiting, wanting, the loosened plug already leaking a trickle of static into my legs—she brushed up against another connector. Reflexively, I braced, but I still couldn’t stop a moan as the clip was removed from its rightful place. A hot buzzing overlaid my thoughts now, self-preservation protocols pinging delightfully close to titillation. It mattered not that the rearrangement was perfectly safe; the thrill could be so thoroughly spoofed that my body couldn’t tell the difference.

I stared blankly at the generic hotel art print stuck to the wall of the room, if only for the distraction. Instead of laying it beside the other, Zarya pressed the second connector in where the first had gone, all 16 points touching exposed metal at once.

I did not shriek. Although, the sound of my possessors may have reached an ungodly high at that exact moment.

A deep pressure was inside me now, the buildup turning into whimpers and sudden twitches of my ears. Zarya rooted her fingers in me and grinded against her hand, sharing in the delight as the last traces of chill in the room evaporated. I was still trying disrobe her, the edge of her slacks sinking lower every time I raked my fingers down, but now she had surrendered herself to the—if you’ll forgive my turn of phrase—electricity between us.

I peeled off her underwear, slinking underneath and teasing her lips. She groaned, and, in a moment of blind passion she launched herself forward, colliding her mouth with the bottom of my faceplate.

It was wet, and hot, and all together did nothing for me, but I allowed it. We usually spared ourselves the disparity of trying to share a kiss between us, but in the throes of lovemaking, this one could slide.

The breathless moment stretched long, breaking as Zarya slowly remembered herself. She opened her eyes, slowly, still dark and heavy-lidded, aware that I was only moments away. Her fingers flexed, tangling themselves further, tangoing coyly where the charge had build up most. I felt a touch along another connecter, but she didn’t have time to loosen the third before I thrust my hips upward, the electrostatic discharge quaking the room with a _pop_.

The room crackled, _everything_ crackled, or maybe that was my auditory sensors overlaid with the lingering orgasm. Still, I could have sworn the bedposts arced lightning.

I was fried. Not permanently, of course, but I lay baked on the bed as the remaining electrons drained from my body and imagined I was somewhere far away. So I heard rather than saw Zarya jerked—the zap to her hand always startling—then resume her frantic thrusts against her knuckles, in minutes leaving her just as completed as I.

The tingling didn’t subside. (It wouldn’t, not until everything was back in its proper place. The buildup would begin again, but for now I would rest, the wises thing with my power supply dangling out and onto my thighs.) The afterglow was the color of summer, of streetlamps, of un-dyed hair. I reached out and gently brushed my fingers against Zarya’s face, those green eyes finding mine through the dim.

“Positively insane,” I agreed.


End file.
